I generally don’t talk about suicide. I don’t discuss my battle with anyone, aside from close friends, because it makes most people uneasy. I never used to understand that because it didn’t scare me. Suicide is a choice — a conscious decision — and a conscious decision can’t be scary. But more recently, I found myself feeling overwhelmed, then afraid I would make a really big mistake.

That fear has kept me alive. Admittedly, I’m still trying to understand these thoughts in myself.

There have been a few high profile suicides in the news lately. When making a statement about his son’s death, Walter Koenig said “If you’re one of those people and you feel you can’t handle it anymore, you know, if you can learn anything from this, it’s that there’s people out there who really care.” Then his wife added, “All the people up here, from the police to his friends, have shown love which he didn’t realize was available to him.”

Their words show a very common fundamental misunderstanding about the reasons someone has for taking their own life.

You think love can fix us? You think it matters that you care?

The very nature of suicide is that a suicidal person doesn’t believe there’s any hope. If we felt like there was somewhere to turn, someone who could help¹, that would imply there was hope. And if there was hope, they probably wouldn’t commit suicide.

We know you care, and we appreciate it when you tell us. We know how lucky we are to have the friends we do. But none of that helps. Suicide doesn’t necessarily result from a lack of external love. It can come from a lack of internal love, when we hate ourselves, or because our thoughts or problems seem too difficult to bear.

Sometimes I get advice about how to fix the issue, almost always from people who have never been suicidal. They think it’s a simple problem, and that we can just stop thinking about it and it’ll go away. Or we just need to find a hobby to distract us. Or find a passion to give us a reason to live. They don’t understand that suicidal thoughts are like a phobia — an irrational fear. You can’t easily fix irrational thoughts. They’re irrational because they don’t follow logic. Otherwise, you’d be able to cure someone’s arachnophobia simply by explaining to them, “Spiders are small and most can’t hurt you”. A person with arachnophobia knows that fact, and understands it perfectly, but put a spider next to them and they’ll be filled with uncontrollable anxiety.

Relate that back to suicidal thoughts: trying to rationalize things to a suicidal person by saying, “You have so much to live for”, is just as ineffective. Someone may have a rewarding career, a wonderful family, and good health, but none of that permeates the mind when suffering from a mental issue. The depression is irrational, and suicide isn’t the easy way out, it becomes the only way out.

From my own personal experience, the worst things you can do when handling a suicidal person are:

• worrying or getting uncomfortable — it puts pressure on us and makes us feel worse
• getting angry — it only makes us withdraw more and communicate less, and communication is one of the few outlets we have left
• telling them it would be a selfish decision — when someone is ready to kill themselves, they really don’t care and making them feel guilty is not the answer

The best things you can do for them are:

• giving them space — we need to handle things on our own terms and at our own pace, not yours, and the last thing we want is to feel like we’re inconveniencing you
• showing that you care, not just telling them — random flowers, text messages, hugs, poems (but back off if you’re told that you’re smothering)
• understanding that getting better is a long-term process, and not always permanent — we rely on your patience and understanding to get through it, and there may be regressions
• never, never, never turning down a chance to talk or hang out if they ask you — nothing makes us sink deeper in our fragile states than to feel like we aren’t important enough (we wouldn’t ask if we didn’t need to)

By no means am I suicidal right now, but yesterday I considered, and came as close to it as I’ve ever been. That was enough to scare me into the realization that I need help. Perhaps I’m fortunate enough to say that I understand how irrational these feelings are, and I know that I need to discipline, practice, effort, and systematic observation to fix myself.

1. Which is very different from someone who wants to help. [↑]

With Defectiveness, you feel inwardly flawed and defective. You believe that you would be fundamentally unlovable to anyone who got close enough to really know you. Your defectiveness would be exposed.

As a child, you did not feel respected for who you were in your family. Instead, you were criticized for your “flaws.” You blamed yourself — you felt unworthy of love. As an adult, you are afraid of love. You find it difficult to believe that people close to you value you, so you expect rejection.

Depression is something I’ve struggled with my whole life. I have so much baggage. So many mental issues. It makes me wonder, “Who would want to be with me?” I can’t see how anyone would want to deal with it all if they truly knew what goes through my head. The thought of it makes me more depressed, which makes me feel more damaged, which makes me more depressed, and everything gets worse and worse.

I’m trying to break the cycle, but I feel incapable of loving myself. It’s so much easier to love other people. And when I can’t love myself, I can’t see how anyone else could love me either.

I have to write this so I can admit it to myself.

I have to write this because I can’t think of anything else nowadays, except for how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning.

I’ve been reading a book my therapist recommended to me a long time ago, the one that deals with lifetraps. In one of the first chapters, it goes through each lifetrap by first explaining a “core need”, which is something a child should have in order to thrive. It goes through examples on how we should have been raised, and how a healthy mind will grow from that. Then it explains how the lifetrap may develop if that core need isn’t met, by giving examples of destructive childhood environments.

And for almost every lifetrap in the book, I saw my own childhood in those examples of destructive environments, such as the one about “Self-esteem”:

Self-esteem is the feeling that we are worthwhile in our personal, social, and work lives. It comes from feeling loved and respected as a child in our family, by friends, and at school.

Ideally we would all have had childhoods that support our self-esteem. We would have felt loved and appreciated by our family, accepted by peers, and successful at school. We would have received praise and encouragement without excessive criticism or rejection.

But this may not have happened to you. Perhaps you had a parent or sibling who constantly criticized you, so that nothing you did was acceptable. You felt unlovable.

As an adult, you may feel insecure about certain aspects of your life.

When I was reading that, all I could think of was one specific incident from my childhood. I was young enough that my mom would bathe me, and she would do it in the en suite bathroom of the master bedroom. One day, she came to dry me off with a towel, and both the bathroom door and the bedroom curtains were open. I told her to close the door, because I was self-conscious about being seen naked by the neighbours across the street. I was really upset about it, and instead of walking two feet to close the door, she laughed and said, “You’re no Tom Cruise”, and left it open. From that point, I’ve had this irrepressible feeling that I’m never attractive enough for someone to even be interested in seeing me naked.

And that was just one example. My childhood was filled with so many such memories, each one branching into other lifetraps.

I’ve never wondered why I have self-esteem issues. I fucking hate how self-conscious I am, because I know the extent of that self-consciousness isn’t normal. I’ve struggled with issues like that my entire life, and I can trace everything back to my parents. It fills me with rage to know that they damaged me to the point where I feel so overwhelmed by my flaws that sometimes I’d rather be dead.

If I were ever to commit suicide — and at this point I feel like I can’t rule out the possibility of this anymore — I’d say that my parents would be 55% responsible¹, with my mom sharing more of that blame than my dad.

I hope she reads this one day. I hope my entire family reads this. I hope all my cousin’s moms read this, because they usually try to defend her. I want everyone to know that if I die by my own hand one day, I blame my mom more than anything else in the world. I want parents to know that they have a responsibility to their kids because they’re people too, that they have to treat them properly, and that I was an example of what happens when you don’t.

This is starting to sound like a suicide note, and it’s scaring me. Good thing I’ve always been a rational person, and I still recognize that suicide is an irrational decision for me at this moment. Sometimes, I watch suicide videos just to shock myself into realizing how final, irreversible, and horrible that decision is.

I’m at a lot better than where I was two years ago, before I went to therapy, but I’m still far from being fixed. I can admit that to myself now.

1. The other 45% being my own inability to deal with these things, but I attribute that to temperament, which is inborn and hence not their fault. [↑]

You know it sucks, realizing that everything you believed in is complete bullshit.

—Some guy sitting on a bench in some movie

This is how I’ve been feeling lately. I’ve lost the plot. I’m wandering and wondering. Aimless. Floating. Disconnected. Questioning what it’s all for.

It’s not that I haven’t been able to keep myself occupied. My calendar until March is quite busy actually. But I feel like a spectre, floating through the world; ethereal, immaterial, intangible, and unable to be touched or affected by anything.

On the other hand, music is hitting me pretty hard right now. I tend to dance a lot, mostly in my room. I actually recorded myself dancing to see what it looks like. I can only imagine that it’s on the same level of embarrassment as getting caught masturbating to furries (yep, there’s a porn for that) with bean dip smeared on my chest.

I’m in a No Motiv state-of-mind; that strange period between Jacky and Louise, when I was living on Island Park with Trolley, and we would go for car rides in the summer to Diagram for Healing. But it’s And The Sadness Prevails that I’m rediscovering, hearing the songs from a different point in my life very different from when I last gave the album a thorough listen.

When John asks me how my day was, it seems like my answer is always somewhere between “shitty” and “like someone took a giant shit on my face¹”. And when he asks what happened, I can never give him a specific incident. It’s just this depression, this sagging feeling that’s been weighing so heavily on me, because I haven’t been able to let go as easily as I’d like.

I’m trying to find my footing in the Tao Te Ching. Verse 44 in particular is speaking to me right now:

One’s own reputation — why the fuss?
One’s own wealth — why the concern?
I say, what you gain is more trouble than what you lose
Love is the fruit of sacrifice
Wealth is the fruit of generosity
Be content, rest in your own fullness —
You will not suffer from loss
You’ll avoid the snare of this world
You’ll have long life and endless blessings

The transition continues.

1. I should postscript this with a note that I wouldn’t enjoy this [↑]

It’s been a particularly trying week. I’ve been feeling so jaded. Broken. Helpless. Undefined.

Both the cause and the consequence is that I’ve been sleeping terribly lately. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-control and stay on a strict schedule. Bring some order into my life.

I tried to make an appointment with my therapist, since I have $300 mental health coverage with my work per calendar year (although this only amounts to two sessions). Unfortunately, I need a referral from my family doctor to claim the coverage, because referrals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.

I think of how judgmental my dad was when I told him I was seeing a psychologist. But then I realize that he’s probably the only person I feel like I can really talk to right now (my therapist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embarrassing to admit to them, or too complicated for them to understand.

I’ve been listening to some quiet, sombre stuff lately. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s middle years, when he traded in his guitar for horns and violins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It hasn’t been helping.

I just don’t know what to do with myself lately. But I’m pretty sure I really need to cry right now.

Sometimes I question whether or not I really know what suffering is. Reading back on my last entry, it struck me that in many ways, my life wasn’t that bad.

A Hero Of Our Time was written during great military conflict, where people were frequently “exiled” by being sent to remote places along the front of the Russian-Circassian War, where Russia had already been fighting for over 40 years. Some may argue that I don’t truly understand suffering, because my culture hasn’t been through something like this, whereas such pain is already in the blood of Russians. Even in popular culture, such as Babylon 5, the Russian character Susan Ivanova (whom I quoted in this tweet) seems to follow this stereotype.

If you look at Aya Nagatomi’s performances of Chopin, specifically her interpretation of his Étude Op. 10, No. 12, you can tell that it’s technically amazing — certainly a virtuoso in the making as she’s only 19 in this video — but you don’t feel the rubato with which Chopin intended it. As such, it sounds like it’s being performed by a computer. You have to wonder whether it takes a certain degree of hardship experienced to do it justice, perhaps going through the political turmoil of the November Uprising in Warsaw that inspired Chopin to write this Revolutionary Étude.

Could Leonard Cohen have been able to pen a song like Famous Blue Raincoat without having suffered through a few lonely nights in New York City? I think not.

I don’t know enough about Chinese history to know what my ancestors went through. The relatives I know of in previous generations escaped the Cultural Revolution — where they would have been subjected to unbelievable hardships — to Hong Kong. Maybe it’s not in my blood, and I’m just drawn to the idea of Nihilism on a superficial level, never truly understanding it any deeper.

But a long time ago, I remember reading an entry by Tina where she felt disturbed by other people’s opinions on how jaded she was feeling, as they were saying she had nothing to feel bad about. I told her not to compare herself to others. That one person going through heartbreak is a different kind of suffering than a person going without food, and that one can’t said to be more “painful” than the other.

I may have been well-fed, healthy, and from a middle-class family in my childhood. But none of things mattered to me because it was the emotional connection that I was seeking, but could never find.

I’ve always had the bad habit of comparing myself to others. I should probably just follow my own advice and enjoy the comfort, beauty, and inspiration that Russian literature gives me.

After all, if I can acknowledge that my suffering is my own, no one else would truly understand anyway!

It’s times like this I wish I had someone to take care of me¹, because I’m tired of taking care of myself.

1. Pat once told me there should be a person in every group who’s always controlled, calm, and together (in case of emergency, or otherwise), and he tries to be this person. It must be true, because he’s my rock, the friend who has never let me down. I once asked him if this idea extended to his marriage, and he told me that it applied to 90% of the time. But for the other 10%, when he’s tired, unmotivated, and doesn’t care anymore, Jenny takes over, and he admitted to me that he’s become dependent on this. [↑]

Last class, Mike asked how I was doing, and as a somewhat phatic response, I told him I was doing well.

He told me, with a chuckle, that if he didn’t know me any better and went only by my writings, he would imagine me to be like Joe Btfsplk, with a perpetual rain cloud above my head.

So I went home and read through the last couple pages of my entries, and found that they painted a somewhat lugubrious picture.

I’ve always contended that happiness is too hard to write. When I feel like expressing myself, it’s often because of a problem of some sort, internal or external, that I need to figure out. Writing has always been a way for me to get my thoughts in line, and off my chest. Not much of a peaceful, detached, care-free Taoist, am I?

The funny thing is that my life has improved tremendously after therapy. I used to be a very dark person. After gaining the stability of a house and a career, along with separation from my mother, not much else has changed. I’ve come to realize that it’s not so much the things in my life that’s improved in the last few years (aside from the struggle with anxiety), as my attitude. To be honest, I have nothing to complain about.

That doesn’t change the fact that my entries have been somewhat depressing.

Perhaps I’m still not truly happy yet.

Or perhaps I’m still not looking at things the right way.

A deeper look at an old topic

Some time when I was a child, I asked my mother if she loved her nails more than she loved me. She had this kit full of nail tools — clippers, files made of metal and emery, toe separators, fake nails separated in little boxes, even a small hand-held, battery-operated dremel with different attachments used to grind, sand, and polish — that she would carry with her around the house. When I asked her this question, she picked me up in her arms, and vehemently denied it. I didn’t believe her though, not in my heart. She had always paid more attention to her nails than to me.

My dad was no better. One time I googled his name to find his work number, and came across an audio/visual site where he had written a small paragraph as a review on a projector he had. I was crushed. It was more effort than he had ever put into my life, sitting in a couple of short sentences in front of me. It would have been okay if he had been so uninterested in everything, but he wasn’t. He loved his car, he loved his home theatre, he loved his karaoke, but me he had no interest in.

So, before I had become a teenager, I started to look for some kind of approval from other people. At that point, it was Andrew and Alex. They were my best friends in grade 3 and 4, but I changed schools in grade 5. Even after this, I tried to hang out with them but they seemed to be more interested in school, and we lost touch.

Pretty soon, I realized that I wasn’t anyone’s “best friend”. I cried and I cried and I cried. I felt like I needed this to define myself. I needed be a priority to someone because I certainly wasn’t a priority to my parents. Without being someone’s best friend, I was worthless.

As an adult, you may feel insecure about certain aspects of your life. You lack self-confidence in areas where you feel vulnerable — intimate relationships, social situations, or work. Within your vulnerable areas, you feel inferior to other people. You are hypersensitive to criticism or rejection.

I still feel this way now. The problem is that the need isn’t being met. Everyone puts other people first, and the one foundation I believed I had in my life has crumbled. I’m never important enough.

Two things keep me from killing myself.

The thought that one day, I may mean something to someone. Or the thought that one day, I’ll be able to stop defining myself through others, and simply be content with who I am.

Either way, something’s gotta give.

My therapist is on vacation now. When he gets back, I’ll start to see him on a bi-monthly instead of weekly basis. At first he suggested that we slow down only once I get a handle on my anxiety, but when I explained that the sessions were putting me in a negative cash-flow scenario, he understood and agreed¹.

• My depression is gone. Most likely, it was a side effect of my anxiety, or generalized anxiety disorder, which is mostly gone now.
  • The root of this is from my habit of predicting negative outcomes and asking too many “what ifs”, which I’m still learning to control.
• There’s this idea of learned helplessness that I struggle with. The bigger issue is that when I feel helpless, I get depressed as a result, about things out of my control such as the weather.
  • I love how the practical side of psychology falls in line with Taoism. In this case, I think of verse 29 of the Tao Te Ching:

    Allow your life to unfold naturally
    Know that it too is a vessel of perfection
    Just as you breathe in and out
    Sometimes you’re ahead and other times behind
    Sometimes you’re strong and other times weak
    Sometimes you’re with people and other times alone
    To the Sage all of life is a movement toward perfection

• One issue I had a hard time understanding was my belief that attempting something is a waste of time if I don’t succeed. I suppose that it seems rather silly now that I think about it (such as avoiding getting in a relationship just for the fact that one may get hurt), but I spent an entire session on this subject alone. It’s a problem because I give up on certain things before I try, and lose important opportunities as a result.
• I’m starting to become more aware of my automatic thought patterns. I’d automatically avoid certain situations because they would give me anxiety, or predict how other people would react based on past experiences, without even realizing it. This is wrong.
• I was a little skeptical about the usefulness of thought records at first, but now that I’ve finished about a half-dozen, I notice a change in my thought process. Every time I get flustered, I think in my head of what I’ll write down later (simply because I don’t have time to write it in the moment) and just doing this helps a great deal.
• My therapist is a fan of Chappelle’s Show (which is generally considered to be a low-class and crude form of humour), because it breaks social barriers by making fun of stereotypes, thereby robbing them of their significance. This makes him the coolest middle-aged white guy ever, and makes me want to smoke a spliff with him.
  • He also calls weed, “grass”, which is cute.

1. We’re both baffled by the fact that the sessions aren’t covered by OHIP, whereas physical health problems are. [↑]

My therapist is still getting to know me. Now I have books to read and worksheets to fill out. It’s somewhat strange; I’ve been putting myself through self-help for years, but I’ve never traced it so far back to my childhood. I don’t like to blame my parents because I see how Darren and Pat have survived far “worse” but it’s getting more and more obvious that there’s trauma in my childhood that still affects me to this day.

• Apparently, I’m moderately depressed, and “moderate” is not normal.
• We’ve figured out that my unassertiveness is the result of conflict avoidance. Even if I practice a situation in my head where I say something that may bring up conflict, I often can’t follow through. I feel helpless to fix this, and this leads to a self-defeating attitude.
  • This stems from my childhood. I’ve almost never argued with my parents (there were two times in my life I felt strongly enough to stand up against them, both ending in me submitting because there was no reasoning with them). I’ve always felt like I wouldn’t be loved unless I got good grades and did everything I was told. In other words, it was an extremely conditional love.
  • This means I care about what people think of me, and I define or evaluate my self-worth through them. Knowing this pisses me off because philosophically and pragmatically I don’t agree, but can’t do anything about it.
• Every time I’ve been in therapy, I’ve cried at least once. This happens whenever I bring up specific aspects of my relationship with my parents.
• Hearing my therapist say, “Wow, that’s bad” brings me a comforting validation to what I feel.
• Aside from being slightly verbose, my therapist is great. He’s a non-judgmental, ethical, open-minded intellectual. He’s also a good listener.

It’s a full seven days between sessions, and at this point, my pschologist is just starting to know me. In between, I can never stop reflecting. I’ve always believed that I know myself well, but these sessions are probing ideas and memories I haven’t thought of in a while, and opening up completely new areas of reflection.

And while I could write for days about these thoughts and epiphanies, I simply don’t have the time, so I figured I’d briefly touch on them in point form.

• I need to respect my psychologist in order to accept help from him. i.e. If he was a Freudian and I was a Jungian, I wouldn’t be able to agree with any of his methods.
• I get very anxious when I’m in his office. This is because I don’t like to admit to myself that something’s wrong with me, but when I’m in there, it’s a very tangible reminder that I have mental problems.
• I’m very conflicted on several issues.
  • I don’t want to lose my emotions because I need to suffer to create. Yet the emotions are bad enough that I don’t want to have them anymore (or have them in moderation at least).
  • I want to love and be in a relationship, and at the same time I cling to being single because I’m scared of being hurt (in addition to the fact that the freedom is intoxicating). I do this by pushing others away from me or cutting them off.
    • This stems from two significant childhood memories, where I felt betrayed in friendship, as well as my relationship with my parents.
  • I want to be settled and have some stability (in terms of schedule, relationships, finances etc.), but the struggle to be settled is what makes me grow and be stronger.
  • Many of these issues can only be resolved from decisions I should make. (i.e. No one else can make the decision for me)
  • Turning to Taoism, which is very paradoxical in itself, has only helped so much.
• Without my creativity, or my desire to express myself, I’m nothing.
• I don’t want to “blame” my parents for confidence problems or perfectionist tendencies, but I’m slowly starting to find out that they’ve affected me even more than I thought before.
• As a hedonist, my greatest fear is losing my joie de vivre. If this happened (and it has once), I would consider killing myself. This is because the joys of life balance out all the bad and makes it worth living.
• I’m dependent on other people for happiness. I don’t see my friends often enough for me to be satisfied, and it’s a simple fact of life. They all have significant others, and I’m the only one left single. I don’t blame them for not spending enough time with me, but it makes me very sad.

A reader sent me this letter (posted with her permission, of course):

Almost a year after I had managed to leave the island behind, the room, the floor, the sheets, the rape – I accidently ended up on your blog entry called “The beginning to the end” and it changed my world. It awoke feelings inside of me that I had for a years time tried to suppress and scare off so that I never again would open up to anyone, never trust anyone and therefor never end up in the same situation again. At that time, all men were a potential threath to me.

Reading and watching that very blogentry have had such a great impact on my life and will to become ‘myself’ again, to reclaim my body and to dare to move towards feeling and being ‘beautiful’ again. Your video granted me the sensation of how sincere, pure and giving love and affection truly are when it’s shared and not forced. It made me remember blocked out feelings and situations and it made me start to long for something that I had completely shut out for over a year.

I have been wanting to write you this email for quite some time, but I havent been sure of myself or if the “new” me (which is the old in fact) would survive and I didnt want to make this into a sunshine story if it really wasnt – but after many downhills, trials and tribulations, theraphy and social interaction, I am there, I am back and I am standing strong again. Nothing will ever be the same, but at least I made the right choice, for me. I have always been lifeloving in overload and even if I am only halfway there yet, it is still enough to keep me going.

I still watch that video every now and then, to remind myself that anything is possible and that you can recieve “help” from the most unexpected sources. It used to make me cry, now it makes me smile instead, isnt that beautiful? I know perfectly well that you never meant to post that entry for me, but it helped me in one of the most difficult times in my life and for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you.

Yours sincerly,
Emma

I’m at a loss for words.

Another exhausting day. It feels good to be tired again, to feel like my eyes are made of lead when I lie down. Most of the summer was staying at home, barely moving, feeling restless.

Aaron and I went to the Unicentre to do some table tennis, and some cocky prick was mouthing off (rather loudly) to his friends about how he so easily beat them all twice. When Aaron heard enough he suggested a partner swap, just so I’d shut him up. I managed to beat the guy 21–3 (pre-2001 ITTF rules) and he promptly had to go.

I cracked and bought F-Zero GX and seasons one and two of Mr. Show on DVD. I must be crazy depressed.

A Halloween party is looming on the horizon, and Aaron and I are looking for costume ideas. If we can find enough good uniforms, we’ll be going as Super Troopers, hopefully with the both of us along with Trolley, Wheaties, and Nick. Other ideas were going as Bob and David, or as a white guy and a Chinese guy.

Speaking of Super Troopers, while Nick was swapping his burner at Future Shop with Stacey, Aaron and I went around the store pulling off the repeater, seeing how long we could go before the salesmen figured it out or got pissed off. We ended up being the ones pissed off though, astounded by how ignorant the salesmen were and eventually we’d both ditch the same salesman with looks of disbelief on our faces, one after the other.